


Wait For Me

by Wearydress



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wearydress/pseuds/Wearydress
Summary: When they told him Geralt was dead, he laughed in their faces.Geralt? Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, dead? Sure, and there’s a pixie in his pants.-In which Jaskier must go to the pits of Nav to get his boneheaded love back from the dead.Based on the Musical Hadestown.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 125





	Wait For Me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a long time in the coming! I really have to thank a couple people for support me though finally getting it out
> 
> Radaan - Both for the art and the idea!  
> Elpie - Listening to me scream  
> Future Fruit - Editing and head pats
> 
> This fic is based on the Musical Hadestown! The relevant music is linked so watch out for the music notes!

When they told him Geralt was dead, he laughed in their faces.

Geralt? Geralt of Rivia, the _White Wolf_ , dead? Sure, and there’s a pixie in his pants. The villagers kept insisting. A sword went into his chest, through and through.

Bullshit. They mistook what they saw. Geralt, stabbed? So fucking mundane? The man had the reflexes of a deranged cat, he was _fine_ , Jaskier assured them, taking more notes as he sipped at his wine. He was confused by the pitious glances at his denial. 

They just didn’t know Geralt as he did. 

  
Then days started to pass. 

Geralt just ran into trouble, that’s all.

Maybe had to stop and find an old lady’s frying pan. Even then, if he was gone _this_ long, Jaskier might as well go check that he wasn’t passed out in some bush somewhere with Roach standing vigil.

He didn’t listen to the doubt eating at his stomach, telling him this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

He finally made his way to a clearing, about where Geralt said he would be. It was distinctive, filled to the brim with tiny white and purple flowers. They swayed ever so gently in the spring breeze and on any other day Jaskier would have sat among them like friends and dreamt up a new song. Instead, he was chilled to the bone. At the edge of the meadow a slender woman in black stood over an unmoving body.

A sword protruding grotesquely from his chest. 

His feet moved without conscious thought—first in fumbling steps, then to a jog, then finally at a dead sprint. 

_Don’t have white hair, don’t have white hair._

He pleaded to whatever god might have an open ear. As he drew close enough to see the finer details he saw a broad figure, the black armour, and wisps of white hair blowing in the wind. In that moment the bard went from a dead sprint to on his knees, a pained cry on his lips. His hands clasped over his mouth. His stomach seized, cramping so hard it hurt. 

Yennefer turned around, an unreadable expression on her face. Watching the bard fall, observing the despair consume his face. She felt something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Pity.

She had come when Geralt failed to respond to her message, tracking the witcher’s movements to the meadow. It...pained her to see him like this. She had cared for him, felt a connection to him unlike anything else. But it would forever be impossible to say if it was something between them or the work of the Djinn. 

Either way she had closed that door. 

She saw the bard stumble to his feet, only to lose himself to his knees by Geralt’s body. Jaskier, now racking with sobs, pressed his face to Geralt’s chest. “Geralt please. Gods, Geralt.” He sucked in breath between sobs, grief acting like a vice around his chest, robbing him of air. 

“Please.” He said, lifting his head to look at the witch. “You know magic. Bring him back.” The tone pleading, eyes begging. 

Yennefer sighed, sitting down next to Jaskier who was now pulling the corpse into his lap, cradling it as if some tender care would usher Geralt’s soul back into the ruined body. 

“If it were that simple, mages would be bringing people back to the dead like farmers hatch chickens.” She huffed, pulling a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked up at the sky, cloudless and bright as it was, instead of at the crushed man. She closed her eyes as she heard him beg, brows furrowing.

“Please…please. There must be something.” 

  
“There is, but it’ll never work.” Yennefer answered, hating the small gasp she heard. She hated the hand that grabbed her arm even more. She finally opened her eyes, looking at the wet ones beside her. “You’ll have to go to hell, to the realm of the dead, and make a deal with Weles.” She saw hope swell in Jaskiers eyes so she took a deep breath. “No one ever makes it back. You understand that? No one. Not the most clever mage or the strongest warrior. He always outwits them.” She could see the challenge didn’t phase him. 

  
“Well I guess he hasn’t tried a determined bard.” Jaskier’s grip on Geralt tightened for just a moment. He leaned down to press into the grimy forehead before he locked eyes with purple irises. “What do I need to do.” 

-

It took them weeks to prepare. First of all, the entrance needed to be located, and apparently that was no easy task. Apparently it changed in some unpredictable pattern. In the meanwhile Yennefer forced Jaskier to bury the body. 

“But he—”

“He’ll get a new body. This one will be rotted through.”

Jaskier would have lied if he said the thought didn’t make him sick. 

The day did come. 

[♩ ♪ ♫ ♬](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nKTH0zx_H8)

Yennefer reminded him of the important things one last time. “Do you have the coin?” Jaskier nodded, feeling the gold coin in his pocket for the ferryman. 

He was lacking for words, his mouth painfully dry in anticipation. 

“There will be a Zmey guarding the gates to Nav.” 

Nav, the underworld. Ruled by the god of death himself, Weles. 

“You will need to find a way past him. Once past him look at _no one_. Look at no faces. Keep going. Don’t worry about finding Weles, he will find you.” With that last warning Jaskier steeled himself, making sure his lute was securely tied. He had his doubts about this. The cave before looked like nothing more than that. A cave, abet a very dark one. When he had remarked upon his concern he had gotten a scathing reply. 

He stepped forward. “For once, Geralt, I will be the one to save you.”

-

The cave was, in fact, more than just a cave. He kept walking, waiting to meet a wall, but there wasn’t. The path before became more narrow, and in the darkness time meant nothing. The only mark he had to go was his own songs, which he hummed. 

“Wait for me, I’m coming” Which one would he sing to Geralt when he saw him back on the mortal plane? “Wait, I'm comin' with you. Wait for me, I'm comin' too. I'm coming too…” He choked a little, at the refrain, emotion rising up his throat.

Then in the distance he saw a torch fixed to the wall, and he knew instantly that it was by no mortal hand. 

The last time he checked, torches didn’t normally burn blue. 

-

The journey to the center of Nav was...interesting to say the least. The first issue was getting a ride on the ferry boat. It was supposed to be easy. Give coin, get ride. But no. Can’t be that easy! Because “You're not dead”. He had to entertain the ferryman with a _song_. Now he was a bard and a song was hardly an issue. Still, it was very much not part of the plan.

Then, it was getting past a _whole fucking dragon_. A _three headed dragon_ named Zmey. Had to lull him to sleep. Thankfully the dragon had good taste in music and didn’t fancy eating him. 

  
_Finally_ , it was trudging across a _swamp_. Filled with _ghosts_ towards a giant tree that looked like it was filled with stars. Ghosts, mind you, that would tug at his clothes. Would beg him for help. He wanted to help them, he did! But he knew in the pit of his stomach that there was nothing for them. 

After all that, he finally got to his goal. 

-

  
Jaskier looked up at a monolithic golden throne in front of him, lute held tight in his hands. It was a great thing, with brass horns twisting out of it. Above it was a tree that was taller than he could conceive.

Cosmic Tree indeed. 

Dripping in precious jewels.

He had no idea how long it had taken him to get here, all time losing meaning in Nav, a world without a sky. 

He should be impressed. 

Awed.

But, none of this mattered to Jaskier, instead his eyes locked on a figure kneeling in front of the god. Jaskier knew who it was. The white hair was unmistakable. He was dressed simply in a white shirt and pants. Shoeless.

“Geralt!” He cried, racing forward to embrace the witcher only to pass through him. Worse, Geralt showed no signs of noticing him. His expression was serene, eyes closed and relaxed. 

Jaskier stumbled forward into the hard ground 

“No! Geralt!” Jaskier shouted in frustration, striking the earth.

“So, Julian Pankratz.” Weles drawled. “You’ve come far.” Jaskier’s mouth was dry, he couldn’t summon words to speak. He wondered if that was Weles’s doing. “You know well that no mortals are allowed on this plane. Care to give me a reason I should not kill you?” 

“Because Geralt deserves to live! Because I need him! He might be a rude, frustratingly silent, and utter bastard, who can’t seem to take care of himself but he’s mine. He’s the most precious thing I have.” Jaskier plead his case, scraping to his feet. 

“Because I love him, and-” 

Jaskier got up closer to the god, feeling bold. “Further! Do you have any idea what I had to do to get here?I mean, I’m sure you have some clue. But do you know what willpower it takes not to shit your pants while lulling a _giant dragon_ to sleep with a fucking _lute_? Do you? Oh! _Oh ho ho_! Not to mention the fucking ferryman! That even though I had the fucking _coin_ that legend tells me to have, wouldn’t let me cross? Oh yeah! But for some reason it let me if I played him a song? So there. Not only have I completed your insane challenges, I appeal to the strength of _love_.” He said, then stood proudly. 

His cheeks went florid as Weles laughed.

“And what would make that so much more special than anyone else in your position. You may have gotten further than most, but that is all.” The god shook his head, then pursed his lips. “I will tell you something bard. Since I am about to wrench your soul from your mortal form, and you have your lute, give me one more song. Sing for me. Make me laugh. Make me weep! Make this King feel young again. Sing for an old man.” 

On any other day, in any other situation Jaskier would have been keen to mock the man. His eyes flitted to Geralt’s kneeling form. He had to keep his temper. He was so close...so so close. He forced on his best smile, pulling his lute out yet again.

“As you wish, my King.” He sent his eyes to the heavens as he began to sing a song about a King brought down by his love to a woman. A love tender and sweet as spring itself. He brought everything he could to the song, knowing it would need to be his best performance. He brought Geralt’s face to his mind. One where his face was softened by humor, a rare smile on his face. 

He wouldn’t move his eyes from Weles, too scared of failure. 

[♩ ♪ ♫ ♬](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c05EMeY2E8)

“King of shadows...King of shades...Weles was king of the Underworld..” The start was shaky, every word crafted on the spot. 

“Oh, it's about me?”

Jaskier resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was a battle and his weapon was his lute. All he had to do was not smack a god with it. 

“But he fell in love with a beautiful lady  
Who walked up above  
In her mother's green field…”

He got more bold as he saw emotion dawn onto the King’s face. A withered hand pressed over his mouth, brows pinched.

“Where'd you get that melody?”

Jaskier ignored Welees, singing now as much for his love of Geralt as for Weles’s lost love. 

“La la la la la la  
And you didn't know how  
And you didn't know why  
But you knew that you wanted to take her home…”

His own mind flashed back to seeing Geralt in that dingey tavern, glowing at everyone that so much as looked at him

And how he had fallen instantly in love with the bastard. 

Weles was leaning back in his chair, tears tracking down his cheeks. 

“And what has become of the heart of that man

Now that the man is king?

What has become of the heart of that man

Now that he has everything?

The more he has, the more he holds

The greater the weight of the world on his shoulders

See how he labors beneath that load

Afraid to look up, and afraid to let go

So he keeps his head low, he keeps his back bending

He's grown so afraid that he'll lose what he owns

But what he doesn't know is that what he's defending

Is already gone

Where is the treasure inside of your chest?

Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth?

Where is the man with his arms outstretched?

To the woman he loves

With nothing to lose

Singing la la la la la la la…”

Jaskier knew, in his mind, that he was being about as delicate as a hammer.

He also felt in his very _bones_ Weles _knew_ love. He knew what it was to love, and then to lose.

It was a _plea_. It was Jaskier _begging_ to be given what he lost. What Weles would never have back. 

For Weles to give what he could not have. 

By the end of the song he beheld a weeping king, and Jaskier was holding his breath. 

Seconds pass with the king collapsed upon his throne, overcome. 

Eventually, the bard’s patience wore thin. “How was the song, my liege?” He asked, biting back terse words, then racing backwards as the god rose from his throne. 

“I was a good song, bard. I have not felt ...in a great many ages.” Weles confessed, looking out on the field. He appears deep in thought. Lost in another time. 

“Do you know how your beloved entered my realm?” 

  
Jaskier was taken aback by the question. 

“He was stabbed? Through the chest. It was very ...gruesome.” Jaskier shuddered at the memory, gripping the neck of his lute tightly as he remembered finding the body. How Geralt’s face was untouched, but his lips were so colourless. He feared that detail would haunt him forever. 

“He died protecting another.” Weles correctly, gently. He gestured to Geralt, still unmoving. “A young child was slain, but when I came for her he plead for her life. His in exchange for her...I took his deal. He had already avoided me by hare’s breath for decades…” 

In that revelation Jaskier felt a new emotion fill his chest. Fury. How could Geralt? How could he leave Jaskier, willingly, and without warning? How could he be so cruel? How could he be so impossibly himself? More than willing to toss his own life aside for another. 

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier sighed. “You’re such a fucking selfless bastard.” 

“So I will offer you a... chance.” Weles spoke again, placing a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. Suddenly the Witcher was tangible. Bright yellow, cat like eyes, opened rushing to acquaint themselves with his new surroundings.

“Jaskier?” Geralt said, looking at the brunet, his eyes showing uncharacteristic bafflement. He scrambled to his feet, embracing the bard. The bard who wanted to be angry, no, _furious_ with Geralt. Instead he melted into the hug, pressing his face into Geralt’s neck. Gods, even if this was all, it would have been worth it. “What are you doing here? How did you even-” 

“Yennefer helped me out.”

Geralt sighed and brushed the hair out of Jaskier’s face. “You shouldn’t have come.” 

“You shouldn’t have fucking died.” Jaskier shot back and Geralt’s lip curled into a snarl, sharp words on his tongue.

“I have a deal to offer you, Julian.” The crooning voice distracted the pair from their looming fight. He didn’t pull away from Geralt, but turned his head to regard him. 

“You can leave with your beloved- but you will have to walk out of my realm, in front of Geralt. If you turn back to look, then I will reclaim him. You will then be cast from Nav, never allowed to return.” Weles explained, calm as ever and reclined on his throne. 

Panic settled into Jaskier’s gut. The offer was like a siren. So beautiful, but held a deadly purpose. Could he do that? Wait if he failed and this was all for nought? He felt hands on his shoulders. Geralt was looking him in the eyes. 

“Jaskier, you can do this.” The Witcher’s voice was low and calm, as if he was replying to instill that very emotion into Jaskier. “I know you can. Don’t suddenly develop a lack of confidence and a sense of self-preservation on my account.” 

  
“Fuck off, Geralt.” Jaskier replied, shaking slightly, hands gripping Geralt’s shirt. “What if I fuck up? And then I’m without you? Do you have any clue what these past couple of weeks have been? Hell, Geralt. I haven’t been able to _sleep_. I haven’t been able to _eat_. I have been tortured by the thought that I left you _die alone_.” Jaskier’s voice started to break down, pressing his face into Geralt’s neck. “I keep imagining your face every time I close my eyes. How colorless your lips were. Gods.” He sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Jaskier. Jaskier.” Strong hands were pushing Jaskier back. “You didn’t leave me alone I-”

“Fucking died to protect a kid?” Jaskier finished, sniffling. “I know... It… it doesn’t change what haunts me.”

  
Geralt glanced at Weles, clenching his teeth as he looked back at Jaskier. He pulled the smaller man close and rubbed his back, their foreheads touching. 

“Jaskier...You’re right. I don’t know how hard it has been, but that doesn’t change that I know you can do this.” He said, then pushed away, and turned Jaskier around, pointing him in the path that had suddenly appeared. 

Well, this realm did exist by Weles’s pleasure. Didn’t make it any less disorienting. 

[♩ ♪ ♫ ♬](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8u1vfsNpVpA)

“You can do this. I know you can.” 

“What if-.”

“Play for me.” Geralt answered quickly. “Play, and I’ll always follow. I always have. I promise.” 

_Fuck me_ Jaskier thought has he looked at the long, long, long path before him. He couldn’t even see the entrance. 

He sucked in a shuddering breath, his fingers plucking a tune out on the strings. 

“Wait for me, I'm comin'...Wait, I'm comin' with you..Wait for me, I'm comin' too...I'm comin' too.” He muttered to himself, harmonizing with this own melody.

His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his lips, and made his mouth taste like ash. He shook as he started walking, taking strength that he could hear Geralt behind him. 

But then, suddenly, there was nothing. He could barely see the path before him and more horrifying than that _he couldn’t hear Geralt anymore._

He stopped dead in his tracks, only facing front by pure force of will. 

He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. 

HIs fingers never stopped playing. 

He wanted to look back. “He’s coming.” He promised himself. “He’s there. _He’s there_.”

Gods, he hoped he was right, 

“I’m comin’... I’m comin’.” 

Jaskier pressed on, his voice and fingers never stopped for a moment. He couldn’t. He didn’t dare. 

-

Jaskier had no idea how long he had been walking. Long enough to play through several sets at least. 

The path before him seemed to stretch on like some deranged purgatory. It was difficult not to think that it was. That there would be that opening. That he needed to keep _faith_. Jaskier had never been good at that. Faith. He was usually a man about making his own path. 

But here he was, slave to it. 

_He’s there. He’s behind me._

It became a chant. A mantra. It was behind every word he sang and every note he played. 

He kept walking.

-

  
“I’m...comin’....I’m comin’...” 

Jaskier was sure he had been walking for days at this point. His vision was blurry. He could barely think about more than putting one foot in front of another. It was absolutely mind— 

There was a light. 

A Door! 

“Geralt! Geralt there’s a—fuck!” 

Jaskier only just caught himself from turning around, his stomach flipping at the cold feeling of the near fatal mistake. 

“ _Fuck_.” 

Just keep going. Keep _fucking going_. 

Somehow one foot is placed in front of another. 

-

Finally, finally, the door was in front of Jaskier. He could see the world beyond. A green meadow. It was night out but the moon was so bright that it felt like a blessing.   
  
[♩ ♪ ♫ ♬](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgAJn8gVGgQ)

But he couldn’t get himself to move forward. What if this was all a trick? That if he was about to leave his love behind...what if he already has? 

Then it dawned on Jaskier— it didn’t matter. 

If it were a trick or not, it was likely too late all the same. 

All he could do was pull through on his end of the bargain. 

He braced himself and stepped into the moonlight. 

He took a few more steps

And didn’t hear any behind him. 

No

_No no no._

Weles _didn’t._

**_Fuck_**

Indecision paralized him. What if Geralt was still behind him? But what could have delayed him? 

Tears of frustration caught in Jaskier’s eyes, his fingers gripping the neck of his lute. 

Weles was a cruel fucker. 

No wonder his wife left him. Fuck him. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay.” 

He forced himself to breath. Fainting won’t help, even if his head felt like it was filled with bubbles. 

Play. He had to play. He had to play so Geralt could find his way home. To him. 

Geralt promised. 

So he played. 

And played. 

And when he couldn’t sing anymore, he played. 

Even as his fingers bled. 

Even as they went _numb_. 

He couldn’t stop. Not even as the night broke into dawn. 

Then there were arms. They were wrapping around him. 

“I’m here.” 

All Jaskier could do was collapse, trusting Geralt to catch him. He wept because he couldn’t talk anymore. The white wolf lowered them to the ground, holding his bard close. 

“I heard you. I heard you all the way. I couldn’t...I couldn’t _see_ but I could _hear_ you.” 

Jaskier just wept harder, kissing any inch of flesh allowed to him. He was turned and Geralt held his hands. “Fuck, Jaskier—” He shook his head. 

“Just let me take care of you now.” 

“About time you two showed up.” 

Jaskier twisted his head around to see the imposing figure of Yennefer, leading Roach into the meadow. 

“I figured you had a hand in this”

-

[♩ ♪ ♫ ♬](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP47npl3rHo)

As the morning sun rose in the sky they sat together. Geralt had his boots back on. Tea was brewing for Jaskier’s shredded throat and Geralt’s scarred hands were bandaging Jaskier’s callused ones.

His voice would never be the same, that went unsaid. 

But it was worth it.

“So you actually managed it...I’m impressed little lark.” 

Jaskier couldn’t much say anything, so he did what he considered very clear communication.

With his middle finger. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes, pouring the tea for Jaskier and adding a generous amount of honey. 

It was the closest she’ll ever come to saying thank you. Jaskier would take it. 

“Maybe, we should go away to the coast.” Geralt murmured, just under his breath. 

Jaskier almost dropped his tea. He made a confused noise that made him gurgle in pain. 

“You said that once, that we should go to the coast. Maybe we should.” 

There was so much Jaskier wanted to say, and so much he would say. 

Right now it was all covered with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ya'll! Thank you for reading!
> 
> If anyone wants to know where to see more lovely art by this artist:
> 
> [This is their tumblr](https://hey-there-hunter.tumblr.com/)  
> [This is their twitter](https://twitter.com/truecryptid)  
> [ And this is their insta](https://www.instagram.com/aestusaart/)


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